


That one brick down

by NeuroButterfly



Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Afterlife, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Eric Fletcher Waters, M/M, Nick and Rick appear briefly, Strong Language, Subtle Sydger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:37:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroButterfly/pseuds/NeuroButterfly
Summary: It came as a surprise to Roger Waters that there was another side, after all.There, he learned that some of our mistakens from Earth could only be solved when we apologised to people we’d known in life. He had the chance to discuss and solve all of his problems with his ex-wives and ex-girlfriends, as well as with many of the people he had fought with, and he remade some friends.There was, however, still one person with whom he needed to solve some stuff.





	That one brick down

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I've been a fan since my early childhood days and I had never thought in my life that I'd ever write a Pink Floyd fanfiction, but here I am. Blame Roger and his Us and Them concert for bringing hope back to my heart.
> 
> I'd like to thank my dear friend VampireInATrenchCoat for being my beta reader and for helping me fix my rusty English. If you're a fan of Supernatural and Destiel, go check her stories!

It came as a surprise to Roger Waters that there was another side, after all.

 

When he had departed from Earth to that new place, dimension, or whatever it was called, he hadn’t expected to wake up somewhere else, especially not in a place such as this one. None of the religions he had known during his lifetime had that view of afterlife. It was, in fact, quite similar to Earth. He’d found out, however, that there was both a “heaven” and “hell” - or at least something that resembled each. Or something more or less like that TV series he had bumped into once, _The Good Place_. Most people went to “heaven”, but very few people truly went to hell. Only the real evil ones. Adolf Hitler, his nazi friends, Joseph Stalin, Augusto Pinochet, and many other dictators, torturers, convicted murderers...The largest amount, however, went first to a place like a purgatory, where they spent an amount of time so they could learn to be better people before entering The Good Place.

 

When he died, very old and peacefully, Roger could have gone straight into heaven, according to the… what were they? Staff from the Afterlife? Anyway, those people - who were not angels at all - had told him that every person had to stay a minimum time - 40 days - in purgatory to “pay” their slightest mistakes. He knew his very well, and he was truly surprised that he didn’t have to spend longer than the standard. Apparently, his activism, his care for people had redeemed him from his pride, his ego and his other flaws.

 

In the Good Place, he had met some incredible people that had made him a lot humbler. Well, humbleness was something you needed when you lived in a place filled with so many great minds. He had had the opportunity to meet and talk to many incredible people - Mary Shelley, George Orwell, Charles Dickens, Hannah Arendt, historian Marc Bloch, writer Octavia Butler… just to mention the most recent ones. He had bumped into the richest man that humankind had ever seen - Musa, the Mali _mansa*_ from the 14th century; he had also met Tunis historian Ibn Khaldun, who lived a few years after Musa; and it was a great honour to meet the incredibly intelligent and sophisticated Byzantine princess Ana Comnena.

 

He had also learned that some of our mistakens from Earth could only be solved when we apologised to people we’d known in life, because they’d all go to the same place. Some of the tasks even included some things that had already been solved in life. Thus he had had the chance to discuss and solve all of his problems with his ex-wives and ex-girlfriends, as well as with many of the people he had fought with, and he remade some friends. This had had such a positive impact on him.

 

There was, however, still _one_ person with whom he needed to solve some stuff.

 

The bureaucrats from the Good Place had told him that he could only redeem himself fully if the two of them forgot their differences. Not doing that wouldn’t take him to hell or back to purgatory, but his consciousness wouldn’t let him sleep peacefully until he did it.

 

And yes, it depended utterly on him. It had depended on him for 15 years.

 

It depended on him because the other person was very willing to solve the problem. He had been dead for 15 years and still hadn’t been able to look at that person in the eye and finally make up for their past. He felt stupid for that, because he wanted to do it too, but not only his pride, but also some things that made him ashamed, embarrassed and regretful for were still getting in the way.

 

To make things even worse, Roger still hadn’t felt comfortable to change his form. In the Good Place, you could look like whatever age you’d like to. Most people got young immediately, but for some reason he didn’t feel comfortable enough to be young again. He had rejuvenated some years, but he still had his 70-year-old look.

 

The other person, on the other hand…

 

Every time Roger thought of David Gilmour, who had died a few months before him, many old memories came to his mind. The fights, the discussions, but also the great days on stage, the reunion in 2005, the other times in which they played together, _their personal moments_.

 

“You cannot avoid him, forever, Rog!” Nick had said. Nick liked to change his appearance every day. He had been the last one to go, three years after Roger. “I can’t believe we reunited _in life_ and now that we’re dead you can barely look at him.”

 

“It’s not that, Nick.” Roger sighed. “It’s not _only_ that. Something’s wrong with me.”

 

“Who would have ever imagined that Roger Waters would say such a thing, uh?” Nick laughed. Rick suppressed a grin. He had had the experience of seeing Roger redeem himself to him. A surprise and a beautiful redemption. Rick was too kind to hold a grudge.

 

Roger remained silent for a while. He looked sad and sad he was, indeed. It was all different now. It had been 15 years since he had learned that our mistakes didn’t cease to exist in our graves and he still hadn’t managed to deal with what he felt. Nevertheless, he couldn’t hide it from himself throughout _the entire eternity_.

 

* * *

 

 

Roger had decided to spend some time thinking of other stuff. Sometimes it helped him clear his mind and find new types of courage inside him, so he went to the special sector of The Good Place in which you could watch your beloved ones. He took a look at his children. He missed them badly. That was something really hard about death. Even though you got rid of the madness, bloodlust and war-minded monsters of Earth, you had to stay separated from your beloved ones while they lived, and sometimes you had to see them suffer. The distance broke Roger’s heart.

 

 _I only see the dark side in everything_ , he thought. How would he ever be able to refresh his mind about David if he was suffering away from his kids and never stopped worrying about wars, hunger, fear and injustice on Earth? That was another shitty thing about being dead: he felt impotent. Differently from what religions in general had suggested, Heaven, The Good Place, or wherever he was had absolutely no power over the events happening down on Earth. At that thought, he decided to go back to his own place, his _home_ , frustrated.

 

On his way there, a familiar voice made itself heard. His heart was filled with joy. He turned around and saw Syd coming towards him, panting a little bit from running. He had a smile on his young face and a brightness of health that still moved Roger. Seeing Syd again, healthy and happy had been by far the _second_ best thing about dying.

 

“Still in 2013, Georgie?” Syd approached, referring to Roger’s appearance.

 

The _oldie_ laughed, but otherwise refused to answer the comment. “Good to see you too, Syd.”

 

“How’s the whole pride thing going, Rog?” the younger-looking man asked.

 

Roger raised an eyebrow. “You’re straight to the point today, aren’t ya?”

 

“Oh c’mon, George Roger. That’s what I’m here for.”

 

_Oh no._

 

As they arrived at Roger’s door, they simply went inside. Roger didn’t question Syd entering without asking to.

 

“Rog, you can’t lie to yourself forever. You know he feels the same.”

 

That was the major question. Syd knew. He had been the only one to know.

 

“Thank god you’re not calling me proud all the time like the others.”

 

“You _are_ pure pride, George Roger,” Syd said as if it were the most normal sentence in the world and embraced the older man. Roger felt ashamed. There were silent tears in his eyes; he knew his friend was right.

 

* * *

 

David was in his home right now, Roger knew. He had been standing behind a tree a few metres away from the other man’s front door for about twenty minutes now, deciding if he would ring the doorbell or not. Twilight was coming and people - ghosts, souls, whatever - were walking happily in the streets, some contemplating the  last rays of sunlight, others walking their dogs, children kicking around balls and then chasing after them… It almost looked like Earth, except for the fact that all the streets were clean, people were mostly happy and a strange aura surrounded everything, one that even when not visible was still pretty much tangible, noticeable.

 

As sunshine began to fade, the windows of the two-step very English typical attached houses were stricken by lights coming from inside.

 

Behind one curtain, Roger could see David’s silhouette.

 

Then he turned around and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Reuniting with joyful Syd had truly been the _second_ best thing to happen after his death, as there was something that could never be overcome.

 

_Roger was trembling. It was a feeling he wasn't very used to. Had he done things right? Was the person behind that door in front of him proud of him or was he going to hear that he should have done more? That his paths had been wrong? He felt like a child again. Nothing more adequate._

 

_He knocked on the door. A female voice he knew very well said he could come in. She had arranged this meeting. She had been the one to greet him in The Good Place. She had chosen to go meet him alone when he arrived because she knew he'd want to be prepared for this moment._

 

_And yet he wasn't._

 

_Roger opened the door slowly. He sneaked inside shyly. So ridiculous. He was an old man, not a child. “Hey, dear, come in," the woman said again. His eyes widened. His mother was sitting on a couch. She was young. A lot younger than himself. Next to her - and holding her hand - a man with a warm smile full of expectation was looking at him. Roger’s lips parted. His heart sped up and his mouth went dry. His father looked exactly like the photograph. He had the same sweet smile, the same caring expression._

 

_“I’m so glad you’re here,” Eric Fletcher Waters smiled. “I’m so proud of you, George.”_

 

_Roger didn’t say a word. He knelt in front of his Dad, took his hand and kissed it, tears dropping insanely from his eyes._

 

* * *

 

 

No one could say that they hadn’t seen each other. That they hadn’t talked. That they hadn’t smiled at each other or laughed together. That they hadn’t _looked_ into each other’s eyes. As the famous band that they were, the population of The Good Place was anxious for a reunion of Pink Floyd. And that required the two of them seeing and spending time with each other. There was an evident distance, though. A certain _tension_.

 

It wasn’t as if the band had a choice, but they all ended up enjoying it very much. And it was so special because Syd could finally join them again, full of energy and joy, free from the market pressures of the musical industry held on Earth and more musically inspired than ever. And it became a routine. Once or twice a year, Pink Floyd played their music to crowds from all over the Earth in the souls’ world.

 

It was quite funny to see. Rick, David and Syd were always young. As Nick liked to change his age at times, he looked different in every show. And Roger had remained old. _“Three boys with their grandpas!”_ people would say playfully. Or _“Grandpa Roger and his little boys!”_ some more cruel would say. Roger only rolled his eyes.

 

(In a way, however, it hurt him. Everyone else - _including David_ \- seemed to have been refreshed except for him. And differently from what most people seemed to think, his old appearance didn’t relate to pride, but to his own discomfort towards having a power such as changing his age. And he wondered if staying old was preventing _the touch_ from happening)

 

In spite of the all the issues plaguing his mind, playing with the whole band made the bassist feel an ecstasy that made him forget about it all and flow almost magically in the music. _It was so good to play with them_. He had forgotten about it. He liked to be in control; he liked his solo work. But damn, his earthly pride had made him forget how great their collective work was.

 

And how much David had been important to make that greatness possible.

 

* * *

 

“What are you afraid of, Rog?” Syd asked, chewing a fresh plum by Roger’s kitchen window.

 

“What would I be afraid of?” the older man grimaced without looking at Syd, busy cutting onions cubes as he was. Thankfully, onions in The Good Place didn’t burn one’s eyes.

 

 _“_ I don’t know. Being rejected, maybe.”

 

 _That may be one reason._ He sighed. “That may be one reason,” he decided to repeat his thoughts orally.

 

“Do you know how he feels, Roger?” Syd walked closer. “For real. Not what you _think_ he feels.”

 

“How could I know?”

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen everything that happened between you two. I may have missed something.”

 

“Listen, Syd.” Roger left the onions and turned to his friend. He immediately forgot what he was going to say, for Syd was standing so close to him that he was nearly startled by the sight of the boy. Syd looked paler and quite phantasmagoric. And black and white (how the hell did he do that?). Something like their videos way back in the 60’s. And yet he was still chewing the plum. The view was _spine-chilling_.

 

“Do you think he doesn’t have this mission too?” the ghost whispered.

 

“What mission?”

 

“To clear up things with you. It’s not a mission that belongs only to you. You’ve made your mistakes; he’s made his.” Now Syd’s colours were gradually enhancing back to normal. Even in heaven he was still a little bit nuts.

 

“I’ve made a lot more,” Roger admitted.

 

“Yes, indeed. But you need to do it _together_ , Rog. C’mon, look at you. You’ve gone over everything related to your pride, to your ego, to your _wall_ . And you were such a great person to humankind. You helped so many people. You’re awesome, Roger. And he knows that. It’s his mission, _your_ mission together. He will forgive you.”

 

Roger gulped. “Forgive me?”

 

“Yeah, it’s part of the whole thing. You forgive him; he forgives you.”

 

“I _have_ forgiven him… and that is good, right?”

 

“Yeah, you just need to tell him.”

 

Syd glared at Roger for some time, which actually felt like ages. It was incredible how sometimes he seemed to own the older man, possess him and convince him of anything. Part of it was Syd’s merit, yes. He was too irresistible. But the other considerable part was Roger’s guilt that would haunt him forever. “ _I’m sorry for letting you drown during our lifetime, Syd. Forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.”_ had been his words 15 years ago. He saw himself repeating them now. He had done it a thousand times.

 

Then Syd giggled. “Hey, c’mon, Rog.” He pulled the older man into an embrace, just like last time. _Like most times._ He responded to it with the most love he could. His body shivered when he felt the boy’s lips placing a small kiss on his roughly-bearded old cheek. Then he relaxed. He felt warm and loved.

 

_Okay, Roger. If you can’t do it for yourself or for Dave, do it for Syd._

 

* * *

 

_Throughout those years, Roger and his father had grown very close and had the relationship they both had always dreamed of. Everything that the bassist hadn’t had during his lifetime could now be somehow compensated. Not fully, obviously. Growing up fatherless had always been one of his worst traumas and no beautiful eternity would ever repair the damage those fucking nazis had made to his childhood, how much that had helped depressing him, making him isolate himself and destroying his relationships._

 

 _“I wonder why you are still old, Roger.” Eric now called Roger_ Roger _and not George. He was sitting on the same couch from when they had first met a few months before and his son was sitting on the floor, old face, young pose, a child with a father. (That’s what they were, after all, right?) They were looking at some photographs from the parents’ wedding._

 

_“I just don’t feel comfortable enough to be young again just yet.”_

 

_His father looked at him with curious eyes. “I have never known how it feels to be old. It is odd that here from heaven, I watched my children grow older than myself.”_

 

 _Roger frowned sadly. His mouth opened so that he could begin to say something, but he had no idea how to answer that. He wrapped his arms around his knees, close to his chest. This was one of those moments in which he wished he could build the wall around himself again. He_ hated _not having an answer._

 

_“It’s okay, Roger.”_

 

_He looked back at his father. “Would you love me no matter what, father?”_

 

_Eric Fletcher Waters raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why do you ask such a thing?”_

 

_He was scared that a man born in his father’s period of history wouldn’t forgive his son for loving whom he loved._

 

This haunted him until this morning. But not anymore.

 

* * *

 

Roger was standing in front of David’s door.

 

The guitar man usually kept his appearance from the early 70’s, with his long greasy hair and some stubble. Roger decided to remain older, as if he would have been able to choose otherwise. He knocked on the door. He hoped that David would take at least a minute, but in less than ten seconds he was standing in front of Roger, young and handsome, like expected. He looked surprised, but not impressed.

 

“You’ve come,” he said, his voice not giving away even a single clue about anything else he might be feeling.

 

“Yeah,” was all Roger could pronounce.

 

“Come in,” David said and stepped aside to let the older man in.

 

When Roger turned, David was suddenly the same age as him. “I’m going to be fair with you,” he said. That attitude pinched Roger’s stomach. He had been unfair to David for a long time in his life. That brought him back to the 60’s,  to their first rehearsals together, the first time their eyes met in _that_ way…

 

“How are you, Dave?” he gasped.

 

“Fine, thanks.” There was now expectation in the guitarist’s voice. “You?”

 

“I’m… okay.”

 

Nothing else was said. Roger was staring down at the floor. The minutes went on.

 

“Roger?”

 

More silence.

 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” David’s voice evaporated his thoughts. _Damn_ , _don’t rush it, Dave._

 

“I’m trying.”

 

David raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Roger?” Roger shifted his eyes from the floor to him, finally. Not receiving an answer again, he went on, “I thought you were a grown man, Roger Waters. You have more than a hundred years of experience. And yet you’re there, not even looking at me. Like Nick said once: an elderly gentleman still at loggerheads and—”**

 

“Nick wasn’t talking only about me, as far as I remember,” Roger raised his voice, now angry.

 

“Yeah, you are right. He was talking about both of us. But he did say you didn’t respect me as well.”

 

Roger couldn’t answer that. This had been so long ago. They had been alive at the time. The _Us and Them_ Tour had just ended, if he remembered it well. And Nick had, indeed, repeated it to Roger many times, both before and after death.

 

“Do you still not respect me, Roger Waters?”

 

Roger swallowed hard. “When I learned to, it was already too late.”

 

Now it was David’s turn to keep silent. For some reason, he looked surprised.

 

“I don't know when it happened exactly. Suddenly, I just felt it. It was all pride, Dave. In the end, deep down, it was all just pride.”

 

Gilmour still didn’t say anything else for a while. He was the one to stare at the floor now, although his colleague couldn’t do much different. Two old men avoiding each other’s eyes, grieving their own pasts, lost in their own thoughts, like two teenage boys.

 

“Do you still feel it?” Roger finally asked.

 

“Feel what?”

 

“That thing we never finished.”

 

David shrugged. “Maybe yes. Maybe not.”

 

Roger’s throat was dry. _He_ felt it. If David didn’t, he’d be broken and being in the good place wouldn’t be so different from being in hell.

 

“Was it only pride, Rog?”

 

_Rog. Not Roger. Not Waters._

 

“Maybe there was some jealousy.” he admitted.

 

“What were you jealous of?”

 

“You.”

 

“Me?” David raised an eyebrow. “But you had a career just as successful as mine, if not more, and—”

 

“No, Dave, not of your career. _You_. I was too proud to admit that I wanted you around.”

 

Roger looked down and sighed. Words were finally coming out of him. He had found the courage. It still hurt to challenge his pride and admit his mistakes (and his feelings), though. When he moved his eyes to look back up at the other man, he realized David was young again. And a lot closer to him.

 

“You started well, Roger Waters,” David whispered. Something had changed in his semblant. His body wasn't the only thing that seemed younger; his attitude did, too.

 

“And I haven’t finished.” Roger gasped as David came even closer.

 

“I know you’re being sincere. I know there’s more to say. But it can all wait.”

 

David was so close now that he could reach out for the older-looking man’s ear. His breath on Roger’s neck felt terribly familiar, terribly exciting. “You know, you still look fucking hot with this old face, Roger Waters,” he whispered, no malice in his voice, but something in it expressed _desire._

 

Roger closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw Dave’s young grin. Roger was back to his thirties. “Better than this?” He stared at the younger man - about three years younger than him, in fact, just like when they'd been alive.

 

“I like it either way,” David whispered and then their lips were meeting.

 

* * *

 

Ages ago, they had realised it for the first time. They had never done much about it. Their constant fights hadn’t let it work properly. But there were two exceptions. One as soon as David had joined the band. The other a bit before the _Animals_ tour. A bit before Roger built a Wall on his music sheets, in his mind and around himself.

 

The first time, they had been drinking, playing and joking. There might have been some drug use in there too. They had pecked each other’s lips as part of a game, but they were never the same again. No one had seen it, but their relationship began to grow weird from that moment on. The others had thought it was because they were beginning to dislike each other for real. But Syd had found out. To him, it was clear. And Roger had ended up telling him the truth.

 

The second time had been in a night after a rehearsal. For some reason, they had stayed together, on their own, in the studio. Among discussions and fights, David had grabbed the front of Roger’s black T-shirt and they had simply stared at each other for a few moments, nostrils expanded and eyes widened in anger. And then it came naturally. In a quick movement and almost synchronically, Roger took Dave’s head in his hands and Dave’s left hand touched Roger’s face while his right one remained on the other man’s chest, and suddenly their lips were touching. The next thing they knew was that were kissing wildly, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths and sucking at each other's lips. Then Roger drifted away, embarrassed, and they agreed that no one would ever know.

 

Now, after so many years apart, they were kissing again.

 

Roger had forgotten how a kiss from David could mess up his mind. Decades had passed, but it still felt exactly the same. The same goosebumps, the same feeling of oddness, the same sudden feeling of comfort, the same taste....

 

What were those feelings, after all? How could they still be there, after all those years? After so many fights, his departure from Pink Floyd, their splitting in life...

 

Dave broke the kiss and bit the other’s jaw slightly. Roger hated him for that. He wished he'd done it first. He had always been the dominant one (at least in his mind). “Shameless old man," he groaned between his teeth, turning his eyes to David.

 

“Not as old as you," the light-haired man smirked.

 

“What about the shameless?”

 

“I guess I have become as shameless as you," the guitarist whispered into the other’s ear, pulling the earlobe with his lips delicately. Roger shivered. “Roger?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you hate me all this time because of _this_?”

 

“I’ve never hated you, Dave.”

 

It was true. Now Roger knew. All of this anger had come from the frustration of not having David for himself. Well, not all, but a large amount of it was. He wanted things done _his_ way most of the time. And not having David _wasn’t his_ _way_. He had looked for excuses his whole life, and most of the stupidities related to Pink Floyd that he had done had been due to him _not owning Dave_.

 

Roger suddenly realised that David had been silent throughout all the time in which his head had been spinning.

 

“Dave?”

 

“You were so fucking _selfish_ , Roger.”

 

He wanted to disappear, but he noticed that David had tightened their embrace anyway.

 

“And I’m so glad you finally see that.” The younger man finally moved away from Roger’s neck to face him. His fingers removed a lock of hair from the taller man’s face. “All the good you had was shaded by your madness, Rog. All your will to make good for the world while hurting everyone around yourself. But it’s gone now. _The wall_ is gone.”

 

Roger stared at David. He didn’t know how to process those words very well. No, he hadn’t torn down the wall. Not completely. He never would.

 

He leaned his head down to touch Dave’s forehead with his own. They nuzzled together, and then they kissed again. Another soft kiss, just their mouths touching at first, then their lips parted together. They broke it just to kiss once more, and Roger took David’s face in his hands again and pecked his lips repeatedly, almost desperately.

 

Ironically, Roger had never felt more alive.

 

* * *

 

The crowd was waiting anxiously. People screamed their names, sang excerpts from their songs, danced together and played imaginary instruments. Eric and Mary stood beside each other, holding hands.

 

When the lights finally went on and _Breathe_ began to play, four young men ripped amazed sighs from the crowd. At a certain moment, a fifth young man came in, and his presence brought the oldest songs of the band to the scene. They had never played in such joy and energy; a spectacle no living souls would ever see. It could look weird to ordinary people, but the Fletcher Waters couple knew very well why everything was so bright.

 

Differently from what their son had expected, it hadn't been difficult for them to accept at all.

 

The band played the _Atom Heart Mother_ suite that night. Not even this song, which they both hated, could take away the happiness that both Roger and David felt in that moment.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> * "mansa" is the title given to the ruler of Mali in the Late Middle Ages.
> 
> ** Nick actually said those things and I'd like to thank him a lot for contributing to my fanfiction. Check the interview here: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/pink-floyd-nick-mason-talks-roger-waters-david-gilmour-763670/
> 
> And yeeees I couldn't resist The Good Place reference.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed ♥


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